


LV Confidential

by mydeira



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 13:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/pseuds/mydeira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giles' vacation only brings more work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	LV Confidential

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the third Choose Your Author Ficathon on LiveJournal in September of 2005. The request was for a story focusing on Giles and Gil Grissom from CSI, but no pairings, and taking place at a conference where Giles is the speaker. Also, Willow, Greg Sanders, Catherine Willows, Doc Robbins, and Jim Brass are to make appearances. The story is to be set post-“Chosen” with Giles and Grissom discussion the existence of the supernatural. Also, no sexual stuff and up to an R rating. Here’s what I came up with, hope you like. Thank you to Savvy for the beta and encouragement. And a thank you to Trekker for making sure I got the CSI characters right.

A vacation.  Who had he been kidding?

 

Not that Giles hadn’t expected trouble; it always managed to crop up one way or another.  He just hadn’t planned on spending the last two hours in an interrogation room for investigating said trouble.  Though it was a small comfort to know not all law enforcement was inept as those whose duty it had been to protect Sunnydale.

 

***

 

“Come on, Giles, it’ll be fun.  Bright lights, flashy city.  It would do you some good to get away from this stuffiness for a few days,” Willow wheedled.  “And hey, you even get to be knowledge guy.  Bring enlightenment to the thick-headed law enforcers of Nevada.”

 

“I hardly see why they need a speaker on demonology at a conference on the latest advances in forensic science,” Giles sniffed, searching for the most recent report from the Eastern European slayer contingent.  “Besides, I have far too much to do here without gallivanting off to Las Vegas to give a speech that no one will listen to.”

 

“You know what they say about all research and no play...”

 

He glared at her over the top of his glasses.

 

“Flight, hotel, and food are covered.  As well as a generous stipend that could be put toward something like the complete set of _Bellamay St. John’s Encyclopedia of Dimensions and Portals_ that you refuse to use the Council’s funds to purchase.”

 

“Because we already have a set.”

 

“Translated.”

 

“Willow,” he warned.

 

“Ok, well there’s rumored to be a hellmouth there.  Wouldn’t that be worth investigating?”  She was getting desperate; he could tell from the way her voice rose in pitch.

 

Ever since she and Kennedy had parted ways three months earlier and Willow had moved to London, the girl had thrown herself into helping Giles run the main headquarters for the new Watchers’ Council.  Actually, she had become quite invaluable.  He couldn’t figure out how he’d gotten along without her for so long.

 

“Would I be correct in assuming that they also provided compensation for an assistant?”

 

“Of course,” she replied innocently.

 

“You do know that this ‘rumored’ hellmouth has been inactive since the early fifties when the mob moved into Vegas,” he pointed out.

 

“You’re not saying no anymore,” she smiled brightly.

 

“Things are slow,” he admitted.  “I suppose a change of scenery wouldn’t be too horrible.  But if anything happens...”

 

***

 

Finally, the door opened, admitting the astute grey bearded man whose department had hosted the conference.  Grissom was his name, if Giles wasn’t mistaken.  Entomologist and supervisor of the night-shift at the Las Vegas Crime Scene Investigation unit.

 

The man flipped through the file he held with a slight frown.  “We’ve determined that you and your companion have no connection to the crime.”

 

“So I’m free to leave?” Giles stood with relief.

 

“You are,” Grissom looked up.  “I do apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you.  However, finding the two of you at the crime scene trying to move the body like that—”

 

“We weren’t moving it.  I just wanted to get a look at the victim’s back to see if the markings were present there as well,” Giles recited for the umpteenth time that evening.

 

The other man studied him for a moment and shook his head.  “I needn’t remind you that you compromised the scene.  We could have brought charges against you for that.”

 

“But you aren’t.”

 

“No, we aren’t.”

 

“It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Grissom,” Giles said coolly, brushing past the man and heading out the door.

 

But Grissom’s voice stopped him half-way out.  “Ms. Rosenberg said that you two have encountered this before.”

 

Didn’t Willow know better?  Especially after how many years of dealing with this sort of thing?  It was a wonder they were being released at all.

 

“That you helped put a stop to it?”

 

Giles turned slowly.  “This isn’t the first victim then, is it?”

 

“The eighth, as a matter of fact.”

 

“Bloody hell,” he sighed.  No, there was no trouble with this trip at all.  Just a minor apocalypse in the brewing.

 

“I was wondering if you might be willing to lend your opinion,” Grissom said hesitantly, holding out the file.  “We’ve been working this case for two solid months with nothing except new bodies turning up.  In all honesty, Mr. Giles, you and Ms. Rosenberg are the first leads we’ve had.”

 

“Would it be possible for Miss Rosenberg and me to have a closer look at the body?”

 

“Doc Robbins is just starting on the autopsy,” Grissom informed him.  “But if you give me a few minutes, I should be able to get clearance for the two of you.”

 

“That would be appreciated.  Before he begins if at all possible.”

 

The man nodded and left.

 

Giles considered the file.  Consulting was better than being in custody, at least.  Though he’d hoped to continue his apocalypse-free streak just a while longer.

 

***

 

“You hate me now, don’t you?” Willow said sheepishly when they met outside the autopsy room.  “I swear it is possible to take a vacation.  Really, I’ve done it.  Twice!”

 

“I’m certain it is possible,” Giles returned, trying very hard to leave his glasses where they were.  He’d spent the last year and a half attempting to break the well-ingrained polish-when-frustrated habit.  He had snapped his favorite pair of spectacles in two one day when Andrew was on a particularly colorful explanation and resolved it was time for a change.  It had gone very well until now.

 

Willow stood on her tiptoes to peek through the glass window in the autopsy room door.  “I know we weren’t able to get a good look, but I’m thinking it might be the G’Tahn-ghin Mgdnish Rite.”

 

“Dear lord, I rather hope not,” he cringed.  “But you’re probably right.  Though there’s the slight possibility it might be Filinal Brack’na Tribute and we won’t have to worry about the world ending.  Just tracking down the Ilfi High Priest and dismembering him before the sunrise following the full moon tomorrow.”

 

“Please tell me you’re joking about the dismemberment,” a low, silky feminine voice spoke from behind them.

 

They turned to find a lithe but curvy woman looking them over curiously.  Giles couldn’t help but think leather pants and a low cut tank top were hardly appropriate work attire.

 

“To hear you two talk,” she continued, “one would think you actually believe in that stuff you presented on today.  Outside of psychological theory, I mean.”

 

“Where is G—Mr. Grissom?” Giles asked, attempting to sound certain of himself.  There was something about this woman he found more than a little intimidating.

 

“Gil had some results he needed to look over.  He’ll join us momentarily,” she explained.  She held out her hand, “I’m Catherine Willows.”

 

“I’m Willow, that’s Giles,” Willow said coolly, pointedly ignoring the proffered hand.  “We’re on a bit of a time schedule, so if we could see the body sometime tonight...”

 

The woman seemed slightly taken aback, but covered quickly.  “Sure, right this way,” she said, pushing the doors open and leaving them to follow.

 

“Willow, there was no need—”

 

“Giles, please.  So not a fan of police stations anymore.  The less time we spend here, the happier I’m going to be,” she cut him off with a hint of apology.

 

Right.  She probably hadn’t been near one since she’d tried to get at Jonathan and Andrew following—

 

The room was bright and dark at the same time.  And very, very cold.  A balding man was bent over a table at the far end of the room, carefully looking over the body in front of him.  He looked up with a smile.  “Catherine, I don’t get to see you much these days.  How are you?”

 

“I’m getting by, Doc.  I brought Gil’s guests,” there was a note of heavy sarcasm on the last word.

 

The doctor’s grin widened when he saw Giles and Willow.  “Rupert, it’s been a few years, hasn’t it?”

 

Giles’ mood immediately brightened.  “Al Robbins!  I should have known you’d wind up somewhere like this.”

 

Willow and Catherine exchanged a look.

 

“We met at Oxford,” Giles explained.  What he left off was that they’d met in Watchers’ Training at Oxford.  Robbins had been well on the fast-track to becoming a top Watcher in his field of demon anatomy and physiology.  Quite a feat for an American.  But a random accident on a training mission had put a halt to that.  He’d moved back Stateside to recover and had never returned.

 

“I hear you’ve given the Council a much needed facelift,” Robbins commented.

 

“I’ve tried,” Giles said proudly.  Noticing the palpable impatience from the two women in the room, he returned to the task at hand.  “What have you found out?”

 

Robbins nodded in acknowledgement and turned back to business.  “I’ve only had time to do a preliminary exam, but so far the external findings are similar if not identical to the seven other victims I’ve had here.  Blunt force trauma to the occipital region but to no greater extent than to render a person unconscious.  Partial asphyxiation.  However, COD is due to exsanguination, or has been in the other cases.  I hate to make assumptions, but this body is in the same state as those I’ve seen previously, so...”

 

“I still don’t understand that,” Catherine shook her head.  “The cuts are so shallow that it seems impossible that one could bleed out from them.”

 

“Shallow, yes, but with the considerable number of cuts in the appropriate regions, it is possible,” Grissom informed her as he joined their small group.  “It is, however, an extremely slow and drawn out process.”

 

“Which means we have one sadistic bastard on our hands,” Catherine stated.  “Now that you’re back, Grissom, I’m going to go help Warrick with that hit and run.”

 

“I appreciate it, Cath,” he smiled pleasantly.  After she left, Grissom turned to Giles and fixed him with a scrutinizing look.  “What is your theory, Rupert?”

 

“May I?” Giles asked Robbins’ permission before reaching for the magnifying glass to focus in on the base of the victim’s spine.  There were a series of curlicues overlain by three parallel lines running perpendicular to the spine itself.  Ackbarian.  Damn, it was the G’Tahn-ghin Mgdnish Rite.  Well, they were overdue for another apocalypse.

 

Willow peered over his shoulder and reached the same conclusion.  “That gives us a little over a day, doesn’t it?”

 

“A day until what?” Grissom inquired.

 

“To find and prevent the death of the final victim,” Giles replied, wondering why they couldn’t have a couple years’ warning just once for an apocalypse.  They always seemed to stumble upon them barely in time.

 

“Don’t you mean next?”

 

“No, I mean final.”

 

Robbins chuckled.  “If I weren’t so out of practice I would have recognized it sooner.  But when you work on mostly human vics for nearly two decades, old skills fall by the wayside.”

 

Giles looked at him, “I doubt you have a _Bryxtyl’s_ on hand.”

 

“My wife sold it in a yard sale two years ago,” the doctor admitted sheepishly.

 

“I can hack into—I mean access,” Willow corrected herself quickly, “the Derrige Database.  They should have what we need there.”

 

Grissom frowned, seeming to weigh his options.  “You can use the computer in my office,” he offered, reluctantly.  “Straight down the hall, second to last door on the left.”

 

She blushed.  “I promise, no one will even notice I was there.”  With that, she exited through the double doors.

 

Turning to Giles, Grissom said, “There are a few things in Trace that might be of interest.  Although, you seem to have a pretty good idea already.”

 

“It can’t hurt to look,” Giles shrugged.  It wasn’t like he could do anything else until Willow tracked down the information they needed for dealing with the Devoté of Mgdnish.  Acknowledging the doctor, “It was good to see you again, Al.  Hopefully we’ll get a chance to catch up when all of this is done.”

 

“If you need any supplies, check out the _Mystical Emporium_ on Encanto Drive.  Tell Roy I sent you and you should have no trouble,” he grinned.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Giles said as he followed Grissom out.

 

“Goes to show people can still surprise you,” his companion muttered.  “In the fifteen years I’ve known him, Al never once mentioned Oxford.”

 

“He has his reasons.”

 

“Of course.”

 

The part of the lab he was shown to contained far too many machines and glassware for Giles to be comfortable.

 

They were greeted by a young man whose hair seemed to have a mind of its own.

 

“Welcome to my humble sanctuary, or what was my humble sanctuary until Grissom saw fit to let me into the field,” he said.  Giles could almost feel the energy radiating from him.  The way his eyes kept darting to Grissom as if to check for constant approval reminded him of another quirky young man he knew.  He could cross the Atlantic, but it seemed that Andrew was bound to follow him in some form or another.

 

“Greg, the evidence,” Grissom said firmly.

 

“Right away, boss,” he reached over and pulled a few sheets out of the printer.  “I think I may have happened upon the means of tracking down our killer.”

 

Giles peered at the papers, the lines and numbers doing nothing to enlighten him.

 

“I ran an analysis on the dirt samples from where each of the bodies were found.  From the readouts, you can see they all have one thing in common,” Greg explained, flipping through the sheets and pointing out what he was talking about.  “Extremely high concentrations of mercury in the soil.  More than you would expect from industrial waste.  Especially since only three of the vics were discovered at sites that were once used for industrial purposes.”

 

“Same level for all eight?” Grissom inquired.

 

“Give or take a percent here or there.  But when each sample is already fifty-six percent above normal . . .”

 

Giles amended his early observation.  While Greg still reminded him uncannily of Andrew, the young man had a maturity that he didn’t think Andrew would ever quite master when business was at hand.

 

“What I don’t get,” Greg said, “is what the killer would want with the mercury in the first place.  A calling card maybe?”

 

“Ritual,” Giles spoke for the first time.  “Quicksilver is highly revered in Ackbarian culture, as it has been in many primitive societies.”

 

“So we’re dealing with a cult?” Greg asked.

 

“Not anymore.  And it was an established religion, not a cult,” Giles lectured out of habit.   “The Ackbari have mostly died out.  Only a few remain, scattered over the world.  And fewer still practice the old ways.”

 

“It still doesn’t get us any closer to catching the killer,” Grissom pointed out.

 

“Do you perchance have a city map with the location of where each body was found?” Giles asked.

 

“Yes, but it won’t do you any good.  There’s no pattern to it.”

 

“That is because you don’t know what you’re looking for.”

 

“Which is?”

 

“If I could have access to the map, I can show you.”

 

A few moments later, Grissom returned with the map.  After obtaining a piece of clear plastic and a marker, Giles set about showing the two men that there was indeed a pattern to be had.  Someone who wasn’t familiar with the Ackbarian language would never see it. The connected dots indicating where the bodies had been found revealed a complete symbol for Mgdnish.

 

“That was on the body, wasn’t it?” Grissom said, finally catching on.

 

“And the other seven before it.  However, the symbol you see here is incomplete,” he said, drawing a dashed line to complete it, then circling the area it stopped.  “And that is where we need to be by moonrise tomorrow evening.”

 

“I’ll have Brass stake some men out in the area then.”

 

“No, when I said ‘we’, I mean Willow and I,” Giles corrected.

 

Grissom not only looked skeptical, but slightly angry as well.  “You’ve interfered once in this investigation, potentially compromising a scene.  And neither you nor Ms. Rosenberg have the authority to take on such a thing in the first place,” he said with force.  “The police will stake out the area and apprehend the suspect.”

 

“Unfortunately, Mr. Grissom, Willow and I are the only one who are qualified for this.  If you do not let us handle this in the appropriate manor, another victim and compromised scene are the least of your worries.”

 

“I can assure you, our officers are quite capable, unlike those you dealt with in Sunnydale,” Grissom said

 

How would he know—right, thorough investigator.  Admirable, yet very trying at the present.  This man dealt with science and absolutes and logic.  Giles knew there wouldn’t be enough time, even if he had unlimited to spare, to convince this man on the matter.  But he had to try.  If not, well when the world did end, it really wouldn’t matter.

 

 ***

 

The world did not end.  And the rationalizing power of the human mind came to their aid once again when all was said and done.

 

In the time it took for Giles to convince Grissom to get clearance for he and Willow to ride along to the scene, Willow had tracked down the information they needed to kill the Devoté of Mgdnish before it was able to complete the ritual.

 

There was just enough time for them to slip away to pick up supplies from the occult dealer Robbins had mentioned, before Detective Jim Brass and his team picked them up for the stake-out.  Grissom seemed to be happy with the fact that they would be safely removed from the scenes in the locked back of an unmarked police cruiser.  Fortunately for Giles, Willow’s skills at teleportation had come quite a ways and this wouldn’t be an issue.  All they needed was the right moment of distraction to slip away from their chauffer unnoticed.  And if they were noticed, they could deal with that later.  Excuses of “faulty locks” and “falling asleep on the job” came to mind.

 

Luck was on their side it seemed, since when the Devoté of Mgdnish appeared, dragging its last sacrifice, the rookie overseeing Giles and Willow was deeply in conversation with another officer.  They were out of the car and in the clearing before the young man had a chance to notice their absence.  The battle with the Devoté was over in a few short moments.

 

The creature was so surprised by their sudden appearance that Giles was able to move the intended victim out of harm’s way just in time for Willow to call down Zeus’ Javelin.  He almost felt bad for the creature, it never stood a chance.  Now if all apocalypse-averting battles could go as smoothly, Giles wouldn’t mind.  It served as a nice change of pace.

 

Willow was comforting the young woman who had almost become the ninth and final victim by the time Detective Brass and his team joined them.

 

“I don’t know what in the hell you were thinking, but—” he stopped, catching sight of the still smoldering Devoté.

 

“The young woman is fine and the killer is no longer any concern of yours,” Giles said calmly.

 

He could almost see the wheels in the detective’s head turning, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

 

“Lightning strike,” Willow said with just a hint of amusement in her voice.  “The chances are just slightly better than winning the lottery.  Lucky, don’t you think?”

 

“Lucky, yeah,” Brass replied distracted, studying the sky.  Then he grabbed his radio and relayed the information of a freak lightning strike, calling an ambulance for the would-be victim.

 

They returned to the station, where Giles and Willow gave their statements of events and were finally given the okay to leave.  It wasn’t soon enough in Giles’ opinion.  And he was quite certain it would be the last vacation he took for quite some time.  His daily life was more of a vacation than this.

 

“Just be glad we didn’t go to Mexico,” Willow joked as they left the interrogation room far behind.  “From the tales Andrew’s told, I bet we’d still be locked up.”

 

“You might want to consider your source,” he said with a slight smile.

 

“So, I’m guessing this is going to fall under the ‘What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas’ heading, huh?” she teased.

 

“I would appreciate leaving out the part about being arrested,” he replied in all seriousness.

 

The door lay up ahead, ten feet to freedom, then the airport, and back home to the routine of slayers and demons and apocalypses in his natural habitat.  However, he wasn’t meant to be free of this place yet.

 

“Mr. Giles, might I have a word?” Grissom’s voice came from behind them.

 

With a sigh, Giles told Willow to get a cab and he’d join her shortly.  Steeling himself, he turned to face the man for what he hoped would be the final time.  “Yes, Mr. Grissom, if it is brief.”

 

Grissom seemed to hold council with himself for a moment over what to say.  When he spoke, his tone was leading.  “The sky over Las Vegas has been clear for the last three days.”

 

“Your point being?”

 

“The conditions did not exist for a lightning strike.”

 

“But you have several witnesses testifying to what took place, as well as meteorological data, from what I was told,” Giles said, trying not to sound smug.  “You have your evidence, do you not?”

 

“What I don’t understand nor care for is how close you and Ms. Rosenberg were to the suspect when the strike occurred,” the man watched him narrowly, his tone heavy with suspicion.

 

“If I were to tell you the only way to kill an Ackbarian is with lightning, would you believe me?  And that had my friend and I not been there to do just that, none of us would be here?”  When Grissom didn’t respond, “I thought not.  Listen to what the evidence tells you, Gil, you’ll rest easier at night.”

 

And with that, Giles left Gil Grissom, Crime Scene Investigations, and Las Vegas behind him.  For good.  If he ever had the desire to vacation in a city that catered to carnal delights, he would go to New Orleans.  At least there the supernatural was part of the culture and the officials a bit more open-minded. 

 

Not that he planned on another vacation for quite some time. 


End file.
